A Tale of Sweet Alice
by CrazyKater
Summary: It's morning, Alice sits alone at a bar. Waiting for someone to come for her, she contemplates her life and love. *Updated with previously un-posted chapters that complete the series. Funny how one little story can snowball... *First chapter is gen but be warned the consecutive ones are slash*
1. A Tale of Sweet Alice

Please Review :)

The bar was dark and quiet. Not unusual for a Tuesday morning. It was an old rundown place. The sort of establishment frequented by people who didn't want to be bothered or recognized.

The lone patron sat on a stool at the end of bar. Still wearing yesterday's wrinkled clothes, her hair was messed and make up smeared.

Her hand shaking, she lifted the glass to her mouth. She tried her best to ignore the bartender's condemning gaze and the burn of the scotch as it rolled down her throat.

In one long pull, she finished the small glass, and despite her gentle motions, it made a clunking noise as she abandoned it on the bar.

"You want 'nother?" the bartender asked, his voice deep and disinterested.

Alice looked up at him, and he blinked at her sleepily. Biting her lip and fighting tears she nodded. She didn't trust her voice not to crack. She didn't trust herself to be able to withhold her pain.

The bartender set up another scotch, and Alice reached for the glass, her hand a little less shaky his time. She sipped at it, the sting of the harsh drink becoming less and less painful as her world mellowed around her.

Absently, she wondered if _he_ would show up to pay her tab this morning. Then she wondered if she even cared anymore.

She really shouldn't care about _him_ as much as she did.

Looking at the bartender, Alice watched as he stood behind the bar, looking unimpressed and wiping beer glasses with his dingy rag.

Was he unimpressed with her or his own life? Alice wasn't certain but she longed to know which.

Taking another drink, Alice imagined all the things the bartender would say to her. If he were her friend or even her enemy.

Things like _'go home, kid. This city has chewed you up and spit you out. We're all done with you.'  
_  
Or maybe he would be a little more kind. He'd look at her in a fatherly way, take her hand and softly say, _'Alice, I know your hurting, but the way you're living isn't going to help that. Go home. Go be something more than what you are.'  
_  
The words sounded right but the person saying them was wrong. Alice longed to hear _him_ tell her those words.

Maybe _he_ 'd kiss her softy and stare deeply into her eyes or maybe _he_ 'd brush his long slender fingers through her faded blonde hair, either way she dreamed of a day when _he_ 'd set her free.

She longed for _him_ to set her free.

Slipping from her hand, the glass landed hard on the bar. The side of it cracked, leaving a circular spider web of damage.

The bartender's eyes narrowed as he glared at her. He reached out and grabbed the destroyed glass.

"Is your man gonna show to pay for that?" he asked harshly.

"He ain't my man," Alice snapped back. Furious at his tone and what he was implying. "And I pay my own way."

Her brow furrowed and she fought angry tears. The bartender's words cutting a little too deep.

What right did he have to judge her? Besides, her money was as good as anyone else's despite how she earned it.

The bartender turned, tossing the glass in the trash can.

Suddenly, Alice felt sorry for the glass. Left broken and discarded in the trash. Thrown away and quickly forgotten.

Just like her.

Alice wiped at her weepy eyes. Her breath came in short sobs as she fought the pain inside of her. She didn't want to think of _him_ today. Especially if _he_ wasn't going to show up and pay for her drinks.

"Jesus," the bartender mumbled in annoyance. He was disgusted but still set her up another drink.

Alice grabbed at the glass. She drank its contents all in one gulp, hopeful it would be enough to erase the memories of man whom she loved more than life.

A man who didn't love her at all.

The bar door opened, and a sliver of light spread across the floor. The bartender nodded as the familiar man made his way to the bar.

Alice heard _his_ feet padded firmly on the floor, and she didn't need to turn to know it was _him_.

She rubbed her hands over face, forcing herself to regain her composure. _He_ had come and she would feign happiness, no matter what it would cost her in the evening.

"Whiskey. Neat," he stated as he sat on the stool next to her.

The curt order told Alice everything she needed to know.

 _He_ had worked the night shift last night, and whatever went down had been bad. _He_ only ordered hard liquor when saw something _he_ wished he could forget.

When the job became too much for _him_ to handle.

The bartender placed the whisky in front of him and _he_ grabbed it. Swiftly throwing it back, it was gone in one gulp.

Alice fought a smile, as _he_ pulled the glass back and grimaced at the taste of the harsh liquid. She wondered if _he_ would ever get used to the sting of it. Deep down she hoped _he_ never would.

 _He_ waved at the bartender to set up another. Alice bit her lip, fear clutching her heart. _He_ rarely ordered more than one.

What terrible depravity had _he_ been witness to this time?

Finishing the second drink, _he_ set the glass on the bar. Finally, _he_ turned to her and smiled, his blue eyes shining with exhaustion and slight inebriation.

"Hiya, sweetheart," _he_ grinned. "You ready to get outta here?"

Alice looked at him. Butterflies fluttering in her chest. She quickly lost herself in his eyes and electric smile, and she hated herself for it.

She would hate herself even more come evening.

Fighting her sudden intoxication in this man, Alice blurted out the only thing she could think of.

"I'm not good enough for you, you know. I'm nowhere close enough to perfect."

 _He_ tilted his head and smiled warmly. His response was devastating, yet, everything she wanted to hear.

"Alice, you may not be perfect, but at least you're always here."

Alice smiled at him. She stood and smoothed her rumpled clothes.

"Pay for my drinks?" she asked with a wink and grin.

"Sure thing, babe."

Starsky stood. _He_ pulled a few wrinkled bills from his front pocket and abandoned them on the bar.

"That oughta cover it." _He_ nodded at the bartender. "Thanks for taken care of my girl."

Alice felt a rush of excitement at his words, but in her heart she knew it wasn't the truth.

They would go back to her place, and she would give Starsky what he needed. Maybe _he_ 'd stay a while after. Hold her and make her feel safe.

But the morning would pass, and once it did, she would be far from his girl.

END


	2. A Tale of Handsome Hutch

It was only mid-afternoon, but the curtains were drawn and the room was dark.

Hutch let out an exhausted sigh as he roll over once again. He and Starsky had worked the night shift and his body was eager for rest, but still sleep was eluding him.

The night had been traumatic, for both of them. And when it was all over instead of being grateful to be alive, Starsky and Hutch had torn each other apart.

Laying on his back, Hutch reached his hand out and ran his open palm against the other side of the bed. Starsky's side of the bed. It was empty and so was Hutch's heart, because in the back of his mind he knew where Starsky was.

His partner had run to her, again.

Alice. Sweet Alice. The woman Starsky occasionally spent time with. It was an unspoken secret between the two men. Something they both were unmistakably aware of but neither chose to talk about.

Hutch told himself he was okay with it. Why shouldn't he be? Starsky had been in Alice's bed long before he had been in his. It wasn't like Hutch was afraid of her coming between them.

Why Starsky chose to run to Alice after particularly bad nights, Hutch didn't know for certain. His mind entertained a wide array of possibilities, though.

Maybe it was because Alice was pretty. Or because she was easy. Hutch snorted, then felt bad for doing so. Just because he was jealous didn't mean he had the right to be cruel.

Wait, what? Was he _jealous_?

Hutch shot up in bed. Biting his lip and tilting his head, he considered the thought.

Now why on earth would he be jealous? He had Starsky's heart and soul. He had Starsky's _love_. Which was more than Alice could ever say.

Hutch smiled.

What did it matter if his partner chose to spend a little time here and there with Alice? She could have been anybody. After all, look at what she did for a living.

Hutch's smile fell as a new thought crossed his mind. He threw his covers back and jumped from bed.

Did Starsky pay for Alice's… _companionship_?

He grimaced and took a deep breath. He did not like that idea. Not one bit. Making his way to his kitchen he grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water.

No. Starsky wouldn't pay for _companionship_ , and especially not from Alice. He wouldn't have to. Not with her.

Taking a drink, Hutch's brows narrowed.

Was that a thought he should feel sorry for? Just because she provided companionship to men for a living, didn't mean she would service his partner for free.

Hutch placed his half empty glass on the counter and forced himself to abandon that train of thought. He wasn't thinking about Alice and Starsky together to obsess about whether his partner paid her or not.

Why _was_ he thinking about this anyway?

Making his way back to his bed, Hutch crawled under the covers. His head resting heavily against pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and rubbed absently at his chest.

He licked his lips as he struggled to recall what had started him down this agonizing path.

That was right, reasons why Starsky ran to Alice. Letting out a heavy sigh, Hutch returned to the list.

Maybe it was because she didn't poke fun at him. She probably didn't act like he wasn't capable of running his own life. She wouldn't call him names, either. Act superior or more intelligent. Or maybe it just because she was Sweet Alice and Hutch was not.

Maybe Starsky just wanted to be with a girl every now and again, and he knew Alice wouldn't ask for more than he was willing to give.

Grabbing Starsky's pillow, Hutch clutched it to his chest. He inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the smell of Starsky. Oatmeal shampoo, courtesy of the bar in Hutch's shower, and Old Spice. The smells intermingled perfectly somehow.

Smiling, Hutch squeezed his eyes shut. His heart aching for his partner.

" _Jesus_ , is this what you do when I'm not around?"

Startled by the voice, Hutch's eyes opened wide. He abruptly threw the pillow away from his chest. It landed on the floor by the bed.

Leaning on his elbows, Hutch looked up sheepishly to find Starsky standing in the entry of the sleeping alcove.

"Did anybody ever tell you, you're weird?" Starsky smiled. His eyes twinkling with delight.

"Yeah," Hutch answered, clicking his tongue and nodding slightly. "A time or two."

Starsky chuckled. His laugh deep and easy. There was a looseness and relaxation to his body that had been absent when they when they parted early that morning.

Hutch watched as Starsky kicked off his sneakers, abandoning them by the doorway. His hair was wet. Hutch could smell the cleanliness of his partner's body from the bed. Old Spice and—something feminine—floral soap maybe. Two scents that did _not_ mix well.

Starsky removed his jeans and t-shirt. He gathered the discarded pillow from the floor, and crawled next to his partner.

As Starsky settled next to him, smelling like a stranger, Hutch wrinkled his nose, trying his best to ignore the aggravation of the pungent aroma. At least Starsky had the decency to shower before crawling back in his bed, he mused.

"Big spoon or little spoon?" Starsky asked tiredly.

Hutch looked at him for a moment. His brain telling him to press Starsky on why he went to Alice. His heart advising him to keep quiet, lest the answer be one he didn't want to hear.

"Um…" Hutch hedged looking into his partner's blue eyes. Eyes that told him not to push. To please understand why sometimes he needed run to someone else. "Big spoon," he answered finally.

Starsky gave him a grin and settled himself in Hutch's open arms.

The pair stayed silent for a moment. Hutch examining the ceiling, and Starsky overcome by noiseless yawns.

"You know I love you, right Hutch?" Starsky's whispered suddenly, his voice sounding small.

"Yes."

"What I did today… it's got nothin' to do with you."

"I know," Hutch assured.

"You're the only one I love," Starsky said softly, sleep tugging at his voice. "My Handsome Hutch."

The nickname stung a bit. _Her_ nickname.

But pushing his jealousy aside, Hutch held Starsky, _his_ Starsky, tight to his chest. With the weight of his partner in his arms, it didn't take long for him to finally give into sleep.


	3. A Tale of Starsky and Who he Loved

He didn't love her. Starsky knew that. He was pretty sure Alice knew it too.

What comfort he took from her didn't have anything to do with love.

It had to do with pain.

His encounters with Alice always started the same. A devastatingly close call. A moment where Starsky was sure his partner was dead. The fear turning into anger, resulting in the exchange of one verbal assault after another. And Starsky sauntering in the dirty run-down bar off of Third Street.

Starsky's encounters with Alice always ended the same. Pounding headache from too much booze too early in the morning. A deep hollow feeling in his heart, and numbness promising to follow, as the exhaustion of the traumatic night caught up with him. He would sleep, but only after he crawled back to the arms of his partner.

Laying on his back, Starsky was still breathing heavily from exertion. Closing his eyes tightly he lifted his hands and ran them through his unruly hair.

 _Please don't let her say anything. Please don't—_

"Was it good for you honey?" Alice drawled next to him in bed.

His hands falling limp at his sides, Starsky lay silently next to her. His dull eyes staring up at the white ceiling.

 _No. Not good at all._

He lay there a moment more, forcing himself to not think of Hutch. To think of anything other than his partner. But his mind had other plans and his thoughts were overtaken.

Hutch. His buddy. His partner. His best friend and, now, his lover.

Lying next to Alice, Starsky was assaulted with everything he loved about the man. The sound of his laugh. His bedroom voice. Deep, sexy, comforting. His touch. His smile. The way he whispered I love you before they would lay down together. His fierceness for Starsky. In and out of the bedroom. On and off the streets. His love. Their love.

It was too much.

If love was an ocean, vast and abysmal, then Hutch was a slab of cement. Heavy and adhered to both Starsky's feet. Pulling him down to the bottom, drowning him in the liquid adoration, as panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Being buddies—best friends—was one thing. Being lovers and soul mates, well, that was something else entirely. To be partnered with your lover in such a high-stress hazardous career was almost impossible. Starsky loved Hutch with all his heart and soul, and it terrified him.

There was a time when Starsky didn't fear Hutch dying. The potential was always there but he didn't focus on it. Now, he was constantly fixated on the possibility. His worry forcing him to do the only thing he could think of.

Run.

Hutch ran with his legs. He called it exercise. Something he did to clear his head.

Starsky ran with his behavior. Grabbing Alice by the heart, he took her on the full-sized bed and cream colored sheets. Something he did because he was afraid of losing what he had. Something that seemed inevitable at this point.

Hutch could have anyone he wanted. It was only a matter of time before he realized he wanted someone else. Someone who wouldn't run to fuck someone else the second things got a little sketchy. Someone who could handle the darkness of their own thoughts.

Yawning, Alice leaned into Starsky's side. She smoothed her small hand across his naked stomach. The touch felt foreign to him. Evil. She wasn't who he wanted. She wasn't who he should have been with. Starsky took no satisfaction in what he had done.

"Baby?" Alice prompted when he still hadn't answered her.

'I'm not your baby,' Starsky thought grimly. 'I'm not sure I'm gonna be anyone's baby if I keep this up.'

Rubbing his hands across his face, Starsky moved from Alice's touch and stood. He didn't look at her.

"It was great," he offered half-heartedly.

The world was starting to crumble around him. His heavy breaths turning in to sobs, he gathered his clothes off the floor and sought the privacy of Alice's bathroom.

With Alice, Starsky always cried after. He was pretty sure she knew but was nice enough to leave him alone about it. She didn't press him why on why or try to make him feel better.

With Hutch, Starsky never cried. But if he did, Starsky knew, Hutch would have pressed. He would have held him gently. Called him something like 'baby' or 'sweetheart' and asked him what was wrong. He would have told him it was going to be okay.

But sometimes Starsky didn't want that at all.

Just because Hutch was a rescuer—his rescuer—it didn't mean Starsky wanted to be rescued all the time. Sometimes he just wanted to feel the pain.

Sometimes, Starsky just wanted to cry.

And today, he didn't want to be held gently. To be called baby or asked what was wrong. He didn't want Hutch to look at him, his eyes gentle and understanding, and tell him everything was going to be alright. And that's why he ran to Alice.

Water turned on full blast, his knees pulled up to his chest, Starsky sat, crying, in the tub. The noise of the shower covering up his heart wrenching sobs, as the cold droplets of water stung his skin and intermixed with his salty tears.

Starsky cried because he was terrified. Because he was ashamed. He cried for violating the close relationship he had with his partner. He cried for Hutch, and he cried for himself.

And when all the tears were gone, he stood, an odd feeling of peace overtaking him. He washed his hair and body with Alice's small bar of rose soap. Then Starsky put on his clothes, left Alice sleeping in bed, and made the drive to Venice Place.

During the drive he prayed that this would be the last time. Somehow he knew it wouldn't be.


	4. A Tale of When the Line was Drawn

_"_ _People who truly love us can be divided into two categories: those who understand us, and those who forgive us our worst sins. Rarely do you find someone capable of both." -Jonathan Carroll_

It was later than usual. Almost noon.

Starsky found himself sitting in the Torino parked in the lot behind the little bar on Third Street. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and wondered if Alice would still be sitting in the bar or somebody else had already come along. Absently, he wondered what he was going to with the morning if she had already left with someone else. Then he wondered if he really even cared.

He shouldn't be there. He knew that. What he needed to do was put his keys back in the ignition and head home. Back to someone who cared. Back to Hutch, who knew him for who he was, but loved him anyway.

And Hutch really did love him. In spite of everything Starsky had done.

Hutch knew all about Alice.

Starsky had confessed to him, not so long ago, and in not in so many words, what was going on. Hutch hadn't said anything. His silence telling Starsky that despite his confession, his partner had known for a while.

Hutch had looked at him, his big blue eyes full of disappointment and pain, and that should have been the end of it. But Starsky knew, even then, loving Hutch wasn't enough to make him stop fooling around with Alice.

He wouldn't stop. Because he couldn't stop. Stopping meant facing his worst fears, and Starsky wasn't sure he could ever do that.

The bar was dark. Pushing through the door, Starsky blinked a few times before his eyes adjusted to surroundings. He surveyed the room, assessing the crowd of unknown faces. The early afternoon brought a very different group to the bar than Starsky was accustomed to drinking with.

It was random group. Old and young. Some people hiding away from the world. Others intending to do something better left undone. Just like him.

Starsky turned his gaze to their normal spot, and the familiar blond sitting alone at the end of the bar, nursing half-filled drink. He pursed his lips and lingered at the entrance. Letting out a taxed breath, Starsky ran his hands through his unruly curls, and wondered what he was doing there.

What were either of them doing there?

Starsky blinked a few times, trying to decide what to do. He wanted to turn and go, and, yet, he wanted to stay.

The decision was made for him, however, as the bartender nodded his way, bringing the blond's attention to the door. Blue eyes met his own and Starsky had no choice but to make his way to the bar.

The bartender gave him a questioning look as Starsky sat awkwardly next to the blond.

"Whiskey. Neat," he ordered gruffly.

Same order to ease same ache in his heart.

The bartender set up his drink and Starsky slammed it in one swallow. He grimaced at the taste, and covered his mouth with his hand when his stomach protested to such a strong liquid on an empty stomach. There would be no conversation with his companion until he had enough alcohol to sooth his moral anguish.

And today he would need more than usual.

Starsky waved at the bartender to set him up another. It was gone just as quickly, as was the third. Starsky pretended not to notice the concerned blue eyes of his seatmate. He hardly ordered more than one, and more than two was unheard of.

Whiskey had never been a favorite, but it did the job better than anything else. Starsky found it numbed him quickly and efficiently.

Fourth shot gone, Starsky indicated for another, despite his stomach, but a hand grasped his arm and pushed his hand back to the bar.

"Don't you think that's enough?" the soft voice asked.

No. Starsky's eyes fell and he bit his lip. It would never be enough. Not for the conversation he knew they were about to have.

The bartender raised his eyebrows at Starsky, then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. The man wanted no part of it of what was about to go down.

"What are you doing here?" Starsky breathed.

"I gave your girl the day off," Hutch answered gruffly. He pulled his hand off of Starsky and took another sip of his drink.

"She's not my girl."

"Yeah," Hutch snorted rolling his eyes.

He ran his finger over the lip of his glass, the movement bringing Starsky's attention to the liquid. His eyes widened as he realized Hutch wasn't drinking alcohol but ice water instead.

At least one of them could control themselves.

"So… this is what you do before, huh?" Hutch spoke quietly and looked at Starsky with disapproving eyes. "Get shitty off whiskey so you don't have to feel anything?"

The words were harsh and Starsky flinched. He felt a jolt of guilt and then rush of grief as he realized what Hutch was doing.

This was the end of it.

This was partner putting his foot down. His surprise presence screaming: what's it gonna be pal? A romp in the sheets with some girl. Or me?

Your loving partner. Your best friend.

Or maybe, just maybe, Hutch was done with all of it. Maybe he hadn't come to talk Starsky out of anything, but to cut ties instead.

"Sorry," Starsky offered, his voice suddenly thick and eyes shining with tears.

All Starsky felt was shame. But Hutch refused to feed into his guilt. Hutch laughed but there was no joy behind the sound. Starsky heard his partner's anger loud and clear.

"No," Hutch said forcefully. Clutching his glass in his hand, he shook his head. "I don't want an apology. I want a promise."

"O-kay," Starsky choked, his eyes filled with unwanted tears and swiped his forearm across his face. The conversation was making him feel small, and Hutch's tone of voice making him feel even smaller.

"I want you to promise me that the next time you feel like running," Hutch stated. "You run to me." He placed his hand possessively on Starsky's upper thigh.

Starsky's wide eyes darted to Hutch's, and he looked at him, shock etched in his features.

Them touching, in that manner, in public was forbidden. Dangerous.

But even at Starsky's discomfort, Hutch didn't remove his hand. Instead, he squeezed harder and looked at Starsky seriously.

"I mean it, Starsk," Hutch whispered deeply his tone taxed.

Starsky could only nod. Hutch's tone was devastating.

It was one Starsky hadn't heard in a long time, and never before had it been directed toward him. It was the tone that had become all too familiar to Starsky in the last few months of his partner's marriage to Vanessa.

That tone said way more than words ever could. Things like: 'you've backed me into a wall. You've broken my heart, but I'm still willing to try. I'm still willing to love you if you can turn it around.' It also told Starsky that Hutch was close to done dealing with his shit. He would walk away if Starsky didn't pull it together.

It was then Starsky knew, he had made a huge mistake. A mistake that he hadn't just made just once. No. He had done it over and over again with Hutch watching each time from the sidelines.

Hutch knew everything. He felt everything. Even if he didn't show it.

Starsky moved his arms to rest on the bar, and he sunk his head in his hands.

What was his recurring mistake going to cost him?

"I don't know what I'm doing, Hutch," he slurred. "I don't know why…"

"Well you better figure it out," Hutch growled. "I won't do this with you anymore. You can have me or you can have her—"

"I don't want her!" Starsky yelled, eliciting the attention of the bartender and a few of the patrons.

Hutch blew out a deep breath and smiled at their audience. This was not the time or the place to be having this conversation. Especially with the alcohol hitting Starsky as hard as it was. His partner already looked close to tears. The last thing Hutch wanted was public meltdown. Or worse, an angry tantrum.

"Your actions say otherwise, buddy," Hutch murmured. He stood, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

Alarmed at his partner's abrupt movement, Starsky turned on his barstool and quickly lost his balance. He would have fallen to the floor, but Hutch's strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and righted him again.

That was Hutch, always catching him before he hit the cement. Pulling him back before he went too far.

"What—where you goin?" Starsky asked in panicky voice. He reached out and grabbed the side of Hutch's shirt. Clasping it tightly, he looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Hutch responded gruffly. Strong fingers moved to unclench Starsky's grip. "I'm taking you home and we're going sort this shit out."

Hutch's words lingered in the air and Starsky knew he was in trouble. This wasn't the real discussion. They would have that behind closed doors. Somewhere they could be fierce towards each other, with both language and sexual escapades.

Throwing a few bills on the bar, Hutch returned his wallet to his pocket.

"That oughta do it," he nodded to the bartender, and grabbed Starsky by the arm. "Come on, buddy."

"I can walk," Starsky objected, trying to pull out of Hutch's grasp. "It was only four shots, jeeze."

"Oh, I know you can," Hutch smiled slightly. "I'm just makin' sure you don't dart off on me."

"I ain't goin' nowhere."

Hutch held on tighter and Starsky relaxed in the touch as they pushed through the door. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Starsky couldn't help a smile.

This was a good thing.

There was a more complicated discussion to be had, a sober apology to be given, and a lot of making up to be done, but for now it was okay. Because Hutch had come for him. He was there, willing and able to lead the way.

All Starsky had to do was trust him enough to follow.


End file.
